


i want him but i better run away

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Desperation, Explorer!Harry, Fingerfucking, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Riding, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, incubus!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a world-explorer on his way to Italy when he somehow ends up in a very gorgeous, albeit strange, rain forest. He finds Louis there, who's just as strange as the forest itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want him but i better run away

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [these tags](http://partyinthepark.tumblr.com/post/87517306929/partyinthepark-x-world-traveler-harry). This is mostly pacing-practice and a promise to myself that I can still, y'know, write porn. Cheers.
> 
> Note- If you read this, I'm probably thinking you understand succubus/incubus/what they do. If you are aware and it doesn't sit right with you, even though Louis doesn't go through with it in this fic, please read carefully or skip this fic. If not... well. Wikipedia's always a pal.

**i want him but i better run away**

Harry was, like, ninety-nine percent sure the plane he boarded was headed to Italy. Ninety-eight percent sure. Ninety-seven. Ninety.

He scrubs a hand over his face, squinting at where one of his sneakers was sucked into a thick, deep puddle of mud, telling himself that it doesn't matter how sure he was of anything. What does matter is that wherever the hell that plane was going, it wasn’t supposed to land at a tiny, secluded airport somewhere in Brazil.

Since he was raised a gentleman, he knows and can admit that that’s where his un-faultiness ends. He _could’ve_ just stayed at the airport, sorted out the problem, find out why he wasn't in Italy with a cone of gelato and some gorgeous tanned beauty tucked under his arm, and rebook another ticket to his destination. He didn’t, though.

He’s never been to Brazil for some reason. The airport was awfully secluded, in the midst of a thick jungle on one side and a highway on the other. And Brazil’s famous for their rain forests, and Harry’s curious. He can’t help it. He’d picked up his bags and slung them over his shoulder, got out his camera and head headed out of the tiny airport.

He can also admit to the fact that it was a stupid move. He didn’t research which jungle it was, put on his sunscreen and bug spray, or call his fellow explorers (who were probably eating gelato cones with gorgeous Italian beauties) and tell them where he was. He could die here and no one would ever know, except maybe the airport staff. Who, he thinks, didn’t like him very much, as he kept asking them what the signs on the vending machines said. He gasps.

This jungle isn't shown on any map he has, or mentioned in the Brazil section of any of his world cultures and locations books. He can’t even find it on the GPS of his cell phone, and there isn't enough connection to search it on the internet. He glances around, staring up at the trees that seem to nearly touch the burning sun, shrouding the jungle in secrecy.

He places his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes when he realizes he hasn't heard any birds chirping or any jungle creatures screeching.

Harry stands there for a while, before sighing and kneeling down by the base of the tree he’s stopped at. He collects his books and phone, slipping them into their designated pockets in his backpack, before he pulls it back over his shoulders. He’s wearing a threadbare muscletank, thankfully, because it’s absolutely _scorching_ in the forest, and he slips his foot back into his muddy sneaker, tugging it out of the mud before he heads off to find a river. It’s a rain forest. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing to worry about in terms of lack of water.

*

Thankfully, he was right, which doesn't happen often in the days of Harry Styles. He wanders around the forest for a bit, taking pictures of particularly fascinating things with his heavy camera, surveying the bunches of bananas that hung on some small branches, and flicking mosquitoes away from his skin. After a while, when he nears the rushing sound of the river, he begins to hear the noises of monkeys screeching and birds twittering, cicadas humming.

He pushes past a thick groove of vines hanging down, and the sound of the river becomes impossibly louder as it’s revealed. His eyes widen upon seeing it’s a waterfall, and-- he’s never seen one of those before, strangely. It’s multiple times more beautiful than it is in the movies, but everything in this forest is, really, all clean and fresh and _glowing_.

It’s odd, and maybe a bit unsettling, but as long as he makes it out alive, he’s not going to question it.

He slowly makes his way down the muddy slope to the waterfall, holding onto lone vines hanging around to keep himself from falling into the muck. It takes a while, but he makes it down in one piece, kneeling by the bank as he drops his bag and camera down.

He reaches down, cupping his hands and scooping water into them. He knows he shouldn't do this, but something tells him it’s alright if he does, so he brings his hands up, watching the water glint in his palms, hesitantly bringing it up to his mouth.

“It won’t kill you, y’know.”

Harry’s eyes snap open and his hands part, pinwheeling in the air as he tries to regain his balance. It’s a futile struggle, and he ends up on his arse, the river water dampening right over where it spilt over his crotch.

He glances around, looking for the person who owns the voice, and his eyes land on a hazy shape on the other side of the river, blurred by the mist curling off of the waterfall. The person doesn't appear to be making any plans to move and show themselves to Harry, so he hastily reaches into his backpack, fishing out his binoculars and bringing them up to peer through them.

He makes eye contact with a slim boy easily perched on a few large, slick boulders, legs crossed. His white shirt is thin and his trousers are folded up the ankle, and combined with his small bare feet, calm smirk, bright blue eyes and pretty hair, he looks just as ethereal as the rest of the forest. Harry feels uncertainty creep through him, and he lowers his binoculars, waving at the boy.

The boy lifts his hand up and gives him a three-fingered wave in return. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s alright,” Harry replies, frowning. The boy speaks in a normal voice, but Harry can still hear it over the water. Yet it doesn't seem like the boy could hear Harry over the water-- and Harry can barely himself, as well. The unsettled feeling grows.

“It’s alright!” he shouts, collecting his things again, before he wades his way into the river. It’s not very deep, alas, just coming to above his knees, but it’s hard nonetheless. He tries to do it as calmly as he can, but he fumbles a few times, ankles getting caught in whatever the hell is down there, and the boy snorts, making him flush down his neck before he reaches the other side. He pulls himself up, the bottoms of his shorts sopping, nevermind his socks and sneakers, before he plops down by the boulder the boy is sat on. “Hiiiiii.”

The boy gapes at him, before laughing, quick and high. “Hi. Can I ask who you are?”

Stranger Danger. Harry first heard that lecture in first grade, but he hasn't forgotten it. He wants to tell this boy who he is, though. It makes him feel fuzzy. “M’name’s Harry. Harry Styles. I like exploring during my summers. I was supposed to be in Italy right now, but somehow I ended up here. Who’re you?”

The boy nods to Harry’s story, making a small, considerate noise when he finishes. “Terribly sorry for your luck, Harry Styles. I’m Louis. I live here.”

Harry was reaching into his bag to grab his half-empty canteen so he could refill it, but at Louis’ admission he pauses. “Pardon?”

“I’m Louis, and I live here. Oh, right. I’m sorry for your unfortunate circumstances.”

“No, not that, but thank you. How can you live here?”

Louis waves his hand dismissively, as if he’s heard that absolutely _ludicrous_ question many times before in a completely barren-of-human-life forest. “How could I live anywhere else? It’s absolutely gorgeous, is it not?”

“Yes, it’s terribly gorgeous, but-- there aren't any resources for a human being to go through life here.” Harry squints up at Louis, who seems to be mulling over Harry’s statement. His hand, small and delicate, is curled up by his chin, pinks lips pursed together.

“I suppose,” he begins slowly, “but it’s been three years, and I’m still here.”

Harry probably shouldn't gasp, because it could be rude, but-- it slips out, helplessly. “Three years? Alone?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Yes, three years. And yes, alone. Does it look like there’s anyone else?”

Harry stares up at him for a moment, before glancing around. He didn’t even see proof Louis lives here, much less anyone else. “How’re your clothes still intact?” he asks, because he’s got priorities.

Louis gives him a funny look now, swinging his legs off the side of the boulder. “You ask some strange questions. Should I be frightened of you?”

“What? No! Sorry, it’s just--” Harry sighs, trying to keep his voice level. He reaches into the river, scooping some water up in his palm, rubbing it over his face. “I’ve been having an odd day, and I think it’s getting to me. I haven't even questioned how I got here.”

“Are you not supposed to be here?” Louis asks. He doesn't look very surprised when Harry shakes his head, leaning back.

“No, I’m supposed to be in Italy. I don't really know how I ended up here.” He looks around again, because it’s really not sinking in. “What is this place, even? I couldn't find it on m’map, or on the GPS.”

Louis purses his lips. “That’s strange. It’s been around for a while. Maybe you didn’t look hard enough?”

Harry really doubts that’s the case, but he just shrugs easily. “Maybe, yeah. I wasn't exactly focused, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, and he’s standing up, stretching his arms out. Harry can’t help but notice how he doesn't seem to feel squeamish at having his bare feet against the forest grounds. Maybe he’s just gotten used to it after three years. “So just relax, and come with me.”

It’s Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Should I maybe be frightened of _you_?”

Louis drops his arms, letting them swing back by his sides as he glances over his shoulder at Harry. He still doesn't say anything, but his eyes sparkle unnaturally, and when he smiles, Harry notices his sharp little teeth, the two fangs on the side. “Are you coming? I’m not very patient.”

It’s stupid, maybe, but Harry thinks if anything happens, he can take Louis on. And he doesn't know when he’ll be able to leave, or how he’ll leave, even, and maybe Louis knows. It really all comes down to the fact that he doesn't want to be alone, so he musters up a smile as bright as he can get, collects his bags once more, and follows Louis through a path away from the waterfall.

*

“Do you have somewhere you live?” Harry asks, eyes steadily trained on Louis’ bare feet stepping through the mud, bugs, grass, and everything else. A thick strand of vine slaps his cheek and he sputters, which makes Louis laugh.

“Obviously. How would I survive?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugs, focusing his attention on the bumpy path they’re walking so he won't be slapped by random plants again. He’s been playing football at an AMerican uni for the past two years, yet he’s accumulated more cuts and bruises in the three hours he’s been in the forest than in those two years. “I thought maybe you weren't even human, and maybe I’ve been here for so long I went crazy and began hallucinating you.”

“It would only take three hours for you to lose it?” Louis scoffs, holding a bush of leaves to the side so Harry can pass, and he nods his thanks. “Don't worry, love, I’m very much real.”

Harry doesn't know if that should reassure him or not. Louis’ a beautiful little thing, but he seems dangerous. Unnervingly calm for someone in his situation. Harry’s head is spinning, and he definitely thinks it’s getting to him now.

“Louis,” he says, blinking slowly. His vision is blurring a bit, and when he can settle his line of sight on Louis, he sees he’s stopped walking and is staring at him curiously, nose scrunched and lips quirked up at the ends. He doesn't seem to be making any moves to Harry so he can help steady him or something like that.

Since he’s stopped even barely questioning everything that happens to him here by now, he doesn't panic when his eyes snap open and he’s tucked underneath a thick woolen blanket, Louis’ small, warm hands smoothing over his cheeks as he stares down at Harry with his bright eyes, twinged with concern. Harry tries to move a bit, and feels the warmth of the damp cloth pressed against his forehead, grunting.

“Am I that out of it?” he asks, voice scratchy as he reaches up, smoothing his fingers over the cloth. His limbs feel achy and old, like they aren't even connected to him, and it’s almost as unnerving as the realization that Louis somehow got Harry down from the forest and up into his little home of a treehouse. In a very tall tree.

“Well, you’re definitely not very in it,” Louis says, letting out a snicker right after as if he’s delighted by his own comeback. “I think your headscarf is quite nice, by the way.”

“Thanks-- oh, did you use it?” he asks, mentally groaning as he lifts the cloth from his forehead. He immediately feels bad upon seeing a regular old piece of shirt torn from somewhere. “Sorry.”

Louis looks scandalized. “I just told you I thought it was nice! Why would I go and double-cross me own words? I’m afraid sorry’s not going to cut it.”

“And what will cut it?” Harry asks with an eyebrow waggle, before stopping cold. That-- might have been too forward. “Shit, sorry--”

Louis makes that same dismissive noise from earlier. “Never apologize for being brash, Harry. You only live once, as the humans say. I mean, as the teenagers say.”

Harry watches as he pushes himself up from where he was kneeling by Harry’s side, heading to the corner of the hut and picking up a wooden bowl from a tiny makeshift countertop. “First, you’re going to eat this porridge I made, because it’ll help you feel better. Then you’re going to come down and help me pick some fruit and catch some fish for supper. That’s how you can apologize.”

“Pretty heavy punishment for such a light crime,” Harry says, but he still pushes himself up and gratefully takes the bowl of porridge from Louis. He’s not eaten since the airplane ride, where he had some shitty airplane food, so it’s safe to say he’s a bit ravenous.

One bite of Louis’ porridge tells him he’s going to be ravenous until supper time. He spits it out nearly as soon as it hits his tongue, flushing hot all over. His manners are usually swell, so he doesn't know why he has to seemingly lose them all as soon as he’s in the presence of a very pretty boy.

“That bad, huh,” Louis muses, like he knew all along it would make Harry reel in pain even more. Harry doesn't feel bad about his manners all that much anymore, as he glares up at Louis, unimpressed.

“Did you even taste-test it?” he asks, wiping his chin before handing the bowl to Louis. “Promise me I can cook supper.”

“Oh, yes, of course you can. I was about to task you with that, anyway. I’m absolute rubbish at anything to do with food, other than digesting it.” He’s still wearing that outfit from yesterday, and he’s closer to Harry now, not paying him much attention so Harry takes a moment to let his eyes wander. If Harry did not know any better, he’d think he was absolutely glowing somehow. sunkissed skin and shiny hair and sparkling eyes.

They head out of the hut as soon as the sun is high in the sky, after Harry lathers on layers of sunscreen and bug spray and Louis respectfully declines his offers for some. Climbing down the ladder of the hut isn't very hard, but keeping track of Louis, who flits through the heavy brush like a miniature nymph is quite sweat-inducing, and when he and Louis reach the river and bushes covered in berries, he’s bracing himself on his knees and sucking in gasps of air.

“Fuck, you’re fast,” he sighs, breathing in again. Louis just snickers again, dropping the basket he’d brought along down by his feet before stepping to the bushes.

He gives Harry a crash course of sorts about which are the easiest berries to pick, which are the easiest to cook, which taste the best and which are so poisonous Harry-- and himself, he adds a moment later-- will be dead after pressing it onto his tongue. Harry sucks the information in quickly and smartly, because he can’t afford to be dead yet. He still hasn't had purely-Italian gelato.

He begins to pick the berries, rolling them around in his palm to check if they’re smushed or bitten in any places, glancing up once in a while to watch Louis, who wades deep into the river and stands still for a while, before yowling and shoving his hand into the water quick as a flash, pulling a flopping fish out each time. It’s truly impressive, and Harry is slightly envious of his skills, but who knows. Maybe he’ll never find his way out of this rainforest, and will adapt skills to catching fish in the river as well.

“I caught five,” Louis says proudly, stepping out of the river around a half hour later. He’s got two medium-sized trout in one hand, the other holding three small ones Harry can’t identify. They’re all still wiggling in his hold. “How did your berry-picking go?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking.” He holds the basket out to Louis, and Louis makes an impressed noise. It’s nearly full, all the berries of fine stature. His hands are a bit sticky, and so is his mouth, as he’d definitely eaten a few when he was sure Louis wasn't watching. “Shall we go back and maybe start an early supper?”

“Almost,” Louis replies, and it’s like a promise. Harry gathers their things as Louis wraps the fish in the cloth he’d draped over Harry’s forehead earlier, tucking them into the corner of the basket before shutting the lid. “We still need coconuts and bananas.”

“Coconuts and ban-- what?” He _promised_ himself not to think too hard here, but that really doesn't sound right. “I didn’t know they had things like that in rainforests.”

Louis’ pretty mouth does that familiar amused twist, and he picks the basket up, heading back the way they came. “Hasn't it occurred to you that this isn't your typical  rainforest by now?”

Harry doesn't reply, because it definitely has. He’s just been thinking it would sound silly if he were to mention it.

He’s definitely pieced together that Louis isn't your typical gorgeous human by now, either, but he’d really sound silly if he’d ask. He sounds silly to himself, even.

*

It turns out that rainforests actually do harbour coconuts and bananas. Or, well. At least this one does. Harry ends up cradling three bunches of the ripest bananas he’s ever laid eyes on, plus two coconuts, as Harry swings their precious food-full basket back and forth, leading him back to the hut. He has half a mind to demand Louis stop risking their food supply, lest he might cry in horror. And hunger. Mostly hunger. He’s not wild on horror, really.

“Hey,” Louis says, his voice breaking through Harry’s strange thoughts. “I usually make a fire here.” He points to a thoroughly-burnt spot in the grass. Harry stares at it as he piles the fruits on the ground.

“I could maybe do it here?” he asks, waving to a fresher spot of ground. “That looks pretty burnt, I think.”

Louis glances at it, like he’s just realizing this for the first time. “Oh. I guess. Whatever you’d like, mate, as long as I get some grub.”

Harry snorts at that, _grub_ , before grabbing two sticks from a premade pile he thinks Louis made a while ago, crouching down and rubbing them together.

He continues doing that for two minutes, in which literally nothing happens, not even a damn spark, and he finally realizes Louis’ still standing there when he hears him burst out a cackle.

“What the fuck?” Louis asks, crouching beside him, and Harry pouts, though a bit exaggeratedly. “Give me that.” Harry hands the sticks over to him and he takes them without even saying _thanks_ , rearranging them, and, like. He rubs them together once and they burst into flames.

Harry’s not saying anything, but he thinks there’s something very wrong here.

*

He discovers there are really good things you can make with fish, berries, bananas and coconut. If he ever gets out of here, he might write a cookbook full of recipes for when you get stuck in a rainforest that’s definitely got something strange going on with it.

“You, Harry Styles, are a lifesaver,” Louis moans, leaning back on one arm, rubbing his stomach. “I haven't had anything that good in so long.”

“Thank you very much,” Harry replies, before tipping his half of the coconut back and draining the rest of its milk.

They clean the remnants of the food and toss it out into the wild for some strange animal to consume, put out the fire, and climb the ladder up to the hut. Louis says he has some cards they can play until night falls, and Harry has lots of stories he wants to share, if a lull in their conversation ever happens.

It probably won't, though, because as soon as he climbs into the hut, Louis’ got one hand poised in front of his neck, nails razor-sharp. His eyes are red, teeth pointier than before, and he seems to be radiating with something that makes Harry feel strange, woozy and-- _hard_. He’s definitely getting hard, fuck.

“Get on the bed,” he says simply, and Harry gets into bed very quietly, his cock literally already stiff in his boxers, mind spinning with lust. It calms down a bit when he looks away from Louis’ eyes, bright and evil, and he presses his back against the wall as Louis knees onto the bed behind him.

“You’re so dumb,” Louis admits, and Harry just nods, because he’s been told that before. Albeit, he was sure they were just teasing him, and they did not have red eyes, but. New experiences, meeting different people, etc etc etc. “You don't have to worry. I’ll just put you under a spell, and when you wake up, you’ll be wherever the hell you were supposed to be, alright?”

“A spell,” Harry repeats. Now, Harry likes trusting people, because it’s just his nature, what makes him feel good, but a ‘spell’ sounds a bit far-fetched. Or maybe not, as Louis’ has pointy nails pressed to the hollow of his throat and red eyes.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs. He drops his hand, looks back into Harry’s eyes as he starts to ruck up Harry’s shirt, and he begins feeling woozy and sleepy again.

“Can I.” His tongue feels heavy. “Can I ask what you are?”

“Ever heard of a succubus?” Louis asks, and Harry nods, slowly. Of course he has. “Well, that’s me. Except I’m a dude. They banished me to this God-forsaken place because I killed the people I slept with--” He shudders when he pulls Harry’s shirt off, running his hand over his abs, eyes momentarily flickering down. “I’m so _hungry_ , and you were such a good chance, and-- I’m sorry.”

He leans in and pecks Harry’s mouth once, twice, whining, and his voice doesn't sound the same. It sounds-- animalistic, and Harry’s strength comes back with Louis’ eyes off of him. He grabs Louis’ wrist, making him gasp in surprise-- he’s so hungry he isn't thinking it through.

He tugs Louis on his lap, and when Louis tries to writhe away from him, teeth going back to normal, eyes blue again, nails short, he snakes his arm around his tapered waist, keeping him still, nudging his chin with his nose.

“You’re an incubus?” he asks, furrowing his brows, and Louis nods, gasping when he brushes his mouth over his clothed nipple, hard and poking through his thin shirt. “Can’t we do this, like, consensually? Wouldn't that be more satisfying?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Louis whines, “I’ve never done that-- how could I explain it?”

“You explained it to me,” Harry says, leaning back again and reaching his hand up to cradle Louis’ cheek, taking in his desperate look.

“Not everyone would react like you,” Louis replies dryly, but Harry can feel the shape of his cock fattening up against his lower abdomen. “So are you gonna fuck me or?”

Harry smiles. “Are you going to say sorry?”

“No, but I will kill you,” Louis says, yelping when Harry slaps his arse. “Okay, fuck, sorry!”

“Huh,” he replies, and uses the leverage he has with his hand on Louis’ cheek to pull him in, kiss him slowly. Louis’ hands settle on his shoulder, and he turns the kiss from slow to dirty mind-bogglingly fast, sucking Harry’s tongue into his hot mouth, moaning for it as Harry slides his hands up his back, pulling back for just a moment to-- ask.

“I can?” he asks, and Louis nods, face scrunching up. Harry’s still stupid hard in his shorts, like he’s also been held back from sex for three years while being a creature that only ever craves sex. He can sort this out later, but not now.

“Please--” Louis shudders, hips rolling forwards to meet Harry’s, “please feed me.” His warm little hands snake into Harry’s curls, fingers knotting into the strands and tugging slightly as he angles Harry’s face up for another biting kiss. Harry goes easily, mind reeling at Louis’ admissions. He reaches down and palms Louis’ arse, before cupping a handful in each palm and squeezing, causing Louis to let out a hot little noise, tongue licking into Harry’s warm mouth.

“Feed you,” he repeats into Louis’ mouth, and Louis nods, barely noticeable, dragging his lips from Harry’s lips to the corner of his mouth, pecking him there before he ducks down to kiss his neck. “How long-- how long have you not had any?”

“Three years,” Louis gasps, almost a pitiful sob, really, and he presses himself tight against Harry, compact body warm against his chest, his hips still rocking in that maddening pace. Harry keeps one hand pressed onto his arse, the other snaking in between the tight fit of their bodies, and he loosely cups Louis’ swollen cock in his hand, giving it a light squeeze with his fingertips just to hear Louis make another pretty, desperate noise.

Louis delivers, exceptionally, the noise he lets out erotic and unraveling. He nudges his hips up into Harry’s loose grip, groaning in frustration when Harry moves his hand to pull the flies of his trousers down.

“Patience,” Harry murmurs, burying his lips in Louis’ soft hair, kissing him reverently as he palms him through his briefs. He knew it would feel better, as Louis’ immediately going _wild_ for it, hitching his hips up, hiccuping when Harry squeezes the bulge lightly once more. “Knew you’d like that, yeah.”

“Don’t--” Louis begins, voice thin, but he falters when Harry slips his hand from his crotch to the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down once. They got stuck on the cheeks of his arse, amazingly enough, and he removes his hands from Harry’s hair, reaching back to shove his pants down until they’re stretched tight round his thighs. He jolts when Harry reaches back to palm his arse again, pry his cheeks apart, and Harry doesn't get it until--

“What,” he says. Louis’ face is completely flushed, eyes blown out, and he bites his bottom lip sheepishly as Harry drags his fingertip over his hole, spreading the slick around. “Did you do that...?”

He stops, because it doesn't feel like lube, really, and Louis shakes his head, gasping out a laugh as he pushes down onto Harry’s finger, trying to get it to slip in. He’s loose and warm and-- wet, literally wet, and Harry’s ‘don't-question-anything-here’ rule flies out the window again. “Why’s it like this? I don't have anything against it, but.”

Louis’ hot breath hits his neck when he speaks this time, sharp teeth nipping at the skin covering the crook of his neck. “You think that I’ve got time to finger meself open every bloody time? I put a spell on meself, like, five years ago. We can skip foreplay.”

Harry makes a noise of rejection, and Louis leans back, quirking an eyebrow. It seems like he’s got his ability to function back, and that’s. Not. Not what he was going for, honestly. “But I love foreplay. I love preparing people.” He draws his fingertip over Louis’ twitching hole again, and Louis looks a bit confused, shiny mouth open like he’s about to protest to whatever Harry’s got in mind. Harry draws his hand back, before he returns with two of his fingers, watching Louis’ face carefully as he slides them in at the same time, breaking through the barely-there resistance, his own long-forgotten cock twitching roughly in his shorts as Louis’ jaw slackens, his arse clenching as soon as they’re in to the knuckle.

“I like feeling them get relaxed,” he says, smiling slowly, and Louis’ hands squeeze his shoulder like he’s angry, but the way he pushes down onto Harry’s slow, indulgent fingering really sends a wholly different message. “Like feeling them get _wet_.” He punctuates it with a harsh thrust back in to make a dirty squelching noise, his wrist beginning to ache, and Louis moans, loud and unabashed, head rolling back, hole squeezing spastically around his fingers. He wishes he’d gotten Louis on his back, or even better, his hands and knees, watched himself fuck Louis open, watched his hole go loose for him until he was begging for it.

He continues the languid pace he’s got, pumping his fingers in quick, watching Louis squirm and pant quietly, when Louis squeezes his shoulder once more and the light pain sends a thrill down to his awfully neglected cock. It’s throbbing against the restraint of his boxers, uncomfortably so, and he can barely take his eyes off Louis’ swollen, red mouth, looking used already and he wants to press his cock in between his lips. He can’t, though, so he arches his neck up, catches Louis’ mouth with his own, kisses him wet and sloppy, lapping up the noises he lets out each time Harry’s fingers slide back in to the knuckle. He’s got one hand bracing himself up, pressed against Harry’s shoulder, the other pressing down on his belly, and he must be so full, and-- Harry shudders this time, hitches his hips up uncontrollably, gasping into Louis’ mouth before pulling back, sucking in a breath.

“C’mon,” Louis breathes, and Harry makes another noise, staring at Louis’ eyes. They aren't even the slightest bit of blue anymore-- black, with a ring of red around them. His teeth are definitely sharper now, too, and-- he still looks unfairly attractive. But that’s his job, Harry guesses. “C’mon, please, I’m ready--”

He sighs’ slumping against Harry when he pulls his fingers out, tracing his stretched hole with a thumb, before deciding he wants to see it. With that thought in mind, he pats Louis’ hip, and Louis shakily climbs off his lap, nearly tumbling to the floor what with the tremble running through his body and his trousers still keeping his legs together. Harry reaches out and grabs his wrist, keeping him upright as he shucks off his clothes, the pants and then his white shirt, and then he’s naked. Harry pushes him down onto his back slowly, keeping his hand on his slim shoulder, taking him in-- he’s honestly not a big guy in physicality, and all spread out underneath Harry, that shows immensely. He’s got a collection of tattoos as random as Harry’s, and Harry watches as he slides one of his little hands up his tight chest to his small, pink nipple, flicking at it before tugging once. Harry nearly drools over his cheek.

“Wait--” he says, pulling Louis’ hand away, receiving a frustrated groan.He ducks down, licking his lips as he takes Louis’ cock in hand-- it’s not very big, but it’s thick and pink, hard and drooling messily all over his belly-- and strokes him as he laps over the nub.

He’s starting to think Louis’ either into literally anything to do with sex, or he’s just extremely sensitive, as he cries out, thighs spreading wider for Harry to slide in between them. His hands find that same spot in Harry’s hair again, tugging as he mewls, rolling his hips up for his cock to slide up in Harry’s loose hold.

Harry thumbs at the slick head, gripping it tighter as he sucks once, hard, on Louis’ nipple, listening to his noises self-indulgently. He can feel both his nipple and cock harden, and draws back after a moment, licking a flat stripe over Louis’ nipple, watching his whole body twitch in satisfaction.

He feels fired up with something that doesn't come out often, and he pecks Louis’ collar bones before crawling down his body, smoothing his hands under his knees. Louis seems to get it quickly, the sex-crazed nympho, like, and hooks his legs over Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s momentarily distracted by the obscene stretch of his hips, gorgeous and tan, before he ducks his head down, hands coming round to nudge his cheeks apart.

His hole-- is a sight, small and pink and wet, so wet, with this slick thing that has him reeling. He leans in before he can tell himself off, pressing a kiss to Louis’ sac, tonguing down to his hole and lapping flat over it, collecting the slick on his tongue. It’s-- different, but not necessarily bad. Tastes better than just eating a human guy out, anyway.

He closes his eyes and goes for it, without the teasing, because fuck-- his own cock is literally unbearable at the moment. He sucks at Louis’ rim, already flushed and used from his fingers, before he presses the tip of his tongue in, massaging Louis’ arse with his hands as he licks at him, right where he wants it most.

Louis’ hips jolt up at that, and he says something in that voice that’s definitely not human, squeezing his thighs tight around Harry’s head as he presses in close, nose nudging against his balls whenever he licks into him. He closes his mouth around his rim, and sucks, mouth making noises he’ll probably be embarrassed about later, but with Louis’ hands tugging his hair, pulling his face right into his arse, his soft thighs keeping him there, sucking his rim and using his tongue to coax Louis all loose and pliant for him, it’s good and he can’t be arsed to care about anything else.

When he snakes his fingers down between his arse cheeks, he can feel how much more wet Louis’ gotten, and he absolutely cannot help how he shoves his fingers back into him, tonguing around where they’re pressed into Louis, and near-immediately stretches them open, watching as Louis’ dark eyes snap open and he starts to come all over his belly, yowling like a motherfucking cat.

His hands twitch as he comes, head lolling to the side, mouth working over nonsense as his cock jerks. He arches, makes a little, unreadable noise when Harry crawls back in between back his legs, pants shoved down his thighs, his own cock heavy with blood between his legs, balls drawn up tight. He manhandles Louis’ legs open with his hands sliding over the backs of his knees, spreading him open, and he leans forward to kiss Louis’ chin sloppily as the fat head of his cock snubs against his twitching, sensitive hole.

“Shit--” Louis gasps, and his eyes are wet, lashes spiky and dark. “Shit, I’m more sensitive than humans, I--”

“You’re still pretty fucking hard,” Harry points out, but when Louis squeezes his eyes shut, he falters. “I-- I won't do anything if you don't want it, y’know.”

“I know. And I want it.” Louis reaches down, rubbing his fingertips through the come on his bronze skin, before slipping his fingers down between his legs, thumbing at Harry’s cockhead as he traches two fingertips round his rim. “Just give me a ‘mo.”

Harry watches him slip his fingers into his arse, barely, just rubbing them around, before he’s gasping, body twitching, and nodding. “Alright, yes, c’mon.”

Harry nods, mostly thankful, and braces himself over Louis with one arm, his free hand gripping his cock by the base, pressing the head to Louis’ hole. Louis makes a small noise, biting his bottom lip, letting out a broken noise when Harry fucks in once, twice, until he’s halfway in.

“Fuck--” he whines, arching, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him down. Their chests press together, almost uncomfortably, and Harry kisses his bottom lip, uses his hand to hold one of his legs up and shoves his hips down.

Louis gasps hard at that, like Harry’s just fucked all the air out of him, pleasant as that is. He leans down and kisses Louis again and again as he concentrates on his own orgasm now, on the tight cling of Louis’ arse to his pulsing cock, shudders at the thought of how Louis looks, taking him right now. It’s what makes him lean back up begrudgingly, waiting until Louis can unwrap his sweaty, disoriented limbs from him and grips him by the backs of his thighs, raising them up enough that he can see his thumbs pressing into their soft flesh.

In the time it takes him to do that, he’s stopped fucking Louis, and Louis’ just pinned full on his cock, squirming and tracing his palm over the underside of his own prick, full and dribbling over his belly. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and Harry leans back over him again, this time bending Louis in as he does so. He plans on just going until Louis makes any face of discomfort, but even when he’s got Louis’ legs folded in between their bodies, his knees nearly by his damn _ears_ , he just stares up at Harry, red eyes half-lidded, panting heavily.

“What the fuck,” Harry says to no one, and keeps his eyes on Louis as he begins to fuck him again, hips drawing back before he shoves them forward once more, and after a while Louis squeezes his eyes shut, mouth opening on helpless, noiseless words, his teeth sharp, neck lined with sweat. Harry leans down and licks it all up, and he tastes sweaty but different. Good different.

After a while of the same pace, Louis’ hands come to Harry’s pecs, shoving at him a bit. “Get out-- off me.”

Harry stops. He’d do it, duh, but he just-- his _orgasm_. “Huh?”

“I’m going to ride you,” Louis huffs, and, oh. Okay.

“Okay,” he says aloud, and reaches down to pull himself out with careful sticky fingers, watching Louis’ hole clench around nothing, before smirking to himself and pressing the head of his cock against him. Louis scowls, but the way his arse seems to want it, it doesn't mean much.

“Go,” Louis stresses, shoving him down onto his back and efficiently straddling him. Harry wonders how often he’s done this to be so good at it. Probably a lot.

Louis doesn't sink himself onto Harry’s cock right away this time. He flattens his palms on Harry’s chest, right under his bird tattoos, and rocks his hips down, his cock sliding with Harry’s until he rubs his open hole against the underside of Harry. Harry gasps in response, hands flying to his hips and gripping tight because _that’s_ new. It’s excellent. Ten points to Louis no-last-name.

Then Louis’ reaching in between his thighs, snagging Harry’s cock and leaning back so his arse is directly over it. Harry’s mouth hangs open as he watches himself slide into Louis, disappearing inch by inch, like he’s watching a particularly fascinating movie. Porno. That’s a thing.

“You get so deep this way,” Louis sighs happily, clenching around Harry once, sliding his hands up his thighs and squeezing them. Harry’s eyes snap down to watch his firm flesh bubble up in between his fingers. “And, like, you’re hitting the spot.”

“The spot,” Harry says, getting awful distracted as Louis begins to fuck himself on his cock, his prick slapping against his belly each time. He looks so damn blissful for someone getting fucked, it’s lovely, Harry could shed a few tears. “Fuck, you’re really pretty.”

“Duh,” Louis says, sinking back down and grinding down. Harry’s cock twitches inside him, and he realizes he’s so close-- so close. “How would I get laid if I wasn't?”

“Good point.” He takes his own cock in hand now, stroking it quickly as he rides Harry, clenching around him each time he sinks down smoothly. Harry only has to close his eyes and get lost in the feeling before his hips are snapping up, and he’s finally coming, the long-awaited orgasm rushing out. Louis whimpers at that, the warmth making him feel full, and Harry sinks into the bed as Louis rocks his hips down once more, stroking himself quick before he’s coming again, his responding moan sounding relieved.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

He flops onto Harry, sweaty and stained in come, but Harry doesn't nudge him off. He feels good, actually.

“Can I pull out?” he asks after a moment, because that’s a bit uncomfortable.

Louis makes a considering noise, before nodding. He pushes himself back up, sighing shakily, and pulls himself off Harry’s cock. It makes a dirty noise, and Harry can see his come trickle down his tanned thighs.

Louis flops down beside him, and they’re silent for a moment, until Louis says “so. D’you wanna go to Italy now?”

Harry drops his arm around Louis, pulling him close, and hums. “Depends. What happens if I stay here?”

“You get to shower in a waterfall with a crazy incubus.” Louis grins up at him, eyes blue again. “What do you say?”

“I say that sounds pretty neat,” Harry replies, because you can eat Italian gelato almost whenever you please, but showering in a waterfall with an incubus? Not as often.

Louis grins up at him before nuzzling into his chest, and yeah, it was the right choice.

**end**


End file.
